When Natalie had pulled into the garden center, she’d been in a huge hurry to buy plants and get to work at the McCreedys’, but her desire to sell a house was completely overshadowed by what Elaine was telling her. “Wait. You already wrote her?”
“Yes. I politely asked for permission to shoot off fireworks the night of the party and told her why it was such an important event for our family. She might’ve brushed off Peter’s request, but I won’t take no for an answer.”
“What if she doesn’t reply?”
Elaine tossed her head. “Then I’ll stand on her porch and ring her doorbell until she opens the damn door and speaks to me. The woman lives in a neighborhood, which means she’s part of a community. She can’t just hide in her house and make decisions that affect her neighbors without looking us in the eye.”
Elaine’s intensity discomfited Natalie. On one hand, she thought her friend’s obsession with a party for a thirteen-year-old was ridiculous. She couldn’t imagine spending such a crazy amount of money on a kid. Then again, Natalie had three kids. Three times the expense of Elaine’s one child. But even if she and Jimmy could afford such an extravagant party, they wouldn’t throw their money away to impress a bunch of teenagers.
Elaine thinks she can buy friends for Charles, but it won’t work.
The kids would be nice to him for a while, but when the afterglow of the party and the satisfaction of having received a new Atari faded, so would his newfound popularity.
“They should ship him off to boarding school,” Jimmy had said more than once. “He’ll be a sissy for the rest of his life if he doesn’t get away from his mother.”
Deep down, Natalie was envious of Elaine. The Bernsteins flew first-class to Europe twice a year and spent every spring break in the Caribbean. Elaine had the most exquisite clothes, jewelry, and purses. She owned several fur coats. She had her hair and nails done every Friday. Every three years, Benjamin bought her a new Mercedes.
Benjamin’s company, Rose’s Frozen Foods, was the mainsupplier of frozen kosher meals for all Long Island. He had several hundred employees and an army of delivery trucks bearing the company logo and a big blue rose. These trucks zoomed from the distribution center in Queens to grocery stores all over Nassau and Suffolk Counties.
“Benjamin might expand into New Jersey next year,” Jimmy had whispered to Natalie a few nights ago. “If that happens, hewillbe the Jewish Gatsby.”
“It’ll take more than money to fix Charles,” had been Natalie’s petty response.
Jimmy had kissed her neck, his hand sliding under her nightgown to stroke the silky skin of her inner thigh. “You could fix him. You always know what to do.”
Turned on by the hint of pride in his voice, Natalie had shrugged out of her nightgown and pulled her husband on top of her.
Now, standing in a quiet corner of the plant store, Natalie didn’t feel jealous of Elaine. She felt admiration.
Elaine Bernstein was going to tangle with Mrs. Smith.
“What can I do to help?”
Elaine smiled. “You can make me a double G&T tomorrow night. Either I’ll be celebrating a victory, or I’ll need some liquid courage before I make my next move. Because if she doesn’t give me what I want, I’ll be declaring war on Mrs. Smith.”
6
Mrs. Smith
Mrs. Smith lurched over the dewy grass in her bare feet, her yellow toenails spearing the soft soil. Dark purple spider veins covered her bony limbs like tattoos. As she moved, flakes of salt-white skin drifted to the ground, leaving a feast for the mites and pill bugs. Her black hair was matted. The moonlight probed the bald patches on her skull.
She moved as fast as she could in her decaying human form.
Ahead, the water waited like a lover lying prostrate on black satin sheets.
It was just past midnight, and all was quiet.
To Mrs. Smith, however, it was never quiet. Even now, in the dead of night, her ears vibrated with a cacophony of human noise. She heard steel lines clanging against aluminum boat masts. The persistent hum of air-conditioning. The rush of water through pipes. The roar of a motorcycle. Somewhere, far above her, a plane whined as it cut through the clouds.
The quiet had been spoiled long ago. So had the darkness.
As she made her way to the boathouse, Mrs. Smith’s sensitive eyes were assaulted by a thousand pricks of light. Lights glared from buildings and docks on the opposite shoreline. Lights onthe sailboats swayed as the vessels rocked in their sleep. Lights from the windows, decks, and porches of her neighbors’ houses trespassed onto the fringes of her property.
If she could, she’d squeeze every bulb until it shattered. She’d slice through every power cable, restoring the true blackness of night. The night did not belong to the humans sleeping in these air-conditioned houses. It belonged to creatures like her.
Predators.
Killers.
